


road to berlin

by doubtthestars



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, consider this my love letter to bayern, im really ridiculously proud of how far robert has come, im weak af but I had to celebrate the win against porto, my fantasy bayern ucl season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 05:56:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We are Bayern and we can do anything.” Robert looks up at him like he’s presenting a challenge. Berlin is Jerome’s home but Robert has the ability to take it for himself when they get there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	road to berlin

**Author's Note:**

> I blame [this](http://thiagoalcantora.tumblr.com/post/117021413615) picture.

“The last time I was this close to the final, you were a threat.” His thumb glances the vein of his elbow as his index finger traces the stars of the champions league ball tattooed there. They found a few moments alone in the revelry, where it didn’t matter if they were too close.

“But now you’re on our side.” Jerome’s voice rumbles, the heat in his belly responds to Robert’s smile like the pull of a siren song. He is still impossibly clad with the red and blue of their kits while Jerome had shed his as soon as possible. Robert always waited until they were away from the eyes of the stadium to quietly undress and silently make vows to the spirit of the south.

He had watched his routine enough times to know it took three counted breaths for Robert to let go of his shirt, to stop the pads of his fingers from caressing the number nine he wore proudly. It was a rarity for him to exchange his jersey with anyone because it meant more to him than it could to anyone else.

“We are Bayern and we can do anything.” Robert looks up at him like he’s presenting a challenge. Berlin is Jerome’s home but Robert has the ability to take it for himself when they get there. It stirs something in Jerome, a sort of caveman awareness of the sweat still lingering on them and their body heat mingling. 

He steps closer, chest bumping into the smooth fabric covering Robert. His hand tugs at the dark hair already mussed from earlier in the game. 

Robert’s blue eyes darken, trained on him. 

“Then _do_ score three goals next time.” He leans in to whisper in his ear. Robert frowns as they part and Rafinha cajoles Jerome to come with him. Their time is over, the bubble of solitude has been popped and Robert is left with nothing but vague disappointment.

Their draw ends up being against Juventus and the media storm is not so much focused on their attackers but become a forum for the goalkeepers. Top league players both but Buffon is old guard and Manuel new, their styles distinct and a topic rehashed in new light. Manu takes everything said with a helping of salt and a joke from Thomas.

Robert on the other hand thinks back to Jerome’s words. He had scored in the interim and the Pokal but this was the true test. He felt confident enough in himself because renowned goalkeepers hadn’t stopped him before and perhaps it was time to make records with Bayern.

After all, he was the one that led Dortmund through their semi-final against Real Madrid. Four goals was a much harder feat than three. If Jerome kept the back line steady they would, without a doubt, win. 

The first leg is at home in Allianz and Pep is in a right fury. Juventus is up by one and they all know away goals were too dangerous to dismiss. He is sweating, the heat pressing down like they were playing in the middle of the day instead of a may night. Thomas finds the right space after Franck’s pass and lets it fly above Buffon’s outstretched hand. Robert congratulates him but is more distracted by the need to get one in himself. 

Juventus falls back and attacks in equal turn. Juan chips it above him and Robert heads it in miraculously. Tevez gets past Holger and Rafinha, Manuel hits the ground to no avail. Half-time comes with an eyebrow raise from Jerome and words from Philipp to bring back morale. 

Bastian comes on and dances around the midfield, taking a shot at the goal that makes the stadium roar. Pogba gets close but Manuel is determined and looks fit to murder when Tevez edges into the box. Jerome takes care of it with a foul. The defenders crowd around Robert but Philipp is there and Thiago sends it his way from behind. He doesn’t breathe as his shot rolls on and he gets body-checked. 

He falls but the ball is inside the net and Buffon stares him down. The ref whistles, delivers a yellow and goes on his way. Robert smiles with all of his teeth. 

Twenty minutes until the final blow. Thiago and Bastian play tug of war. Bernat takes it to the edges of the field. Ribery goes down. They earn a free kick that Bastian takes. It soars above the net. It doesn’t matter because the next minute is his and Robert jumps in celebration. His jersey fluttering with the motion. The rest of them pile around him and Rafinha even kisses him. Jerome is two bodies away, only his hand coming in contact with his shoulder. 

A yellow for Holger when Juventus gets desperate. Two minutes are added on but it’s done, they’ve won this leg, 4-2. 

Jerome holds his face between his broad palms. 

“You did it,” It is giddy and Robert grins in response. Thomas is jumping, chanting in his peripherals. 

“ _We_ did it,” are his final words before the line up in front of the fans, arms slung around each other. They clap and Allianz is charged with the knowledge that they are one step closer to Berlin. 

Jerome kisses him with promise when they get to Turin, tangling their legs together and making him breathe like a fish out of water. The shuffle of their bodies is languid. Italian air tastes like citrus and the sea. 

He trails his fingers across every inch of his skin without purpose. Jerome shivers.

The away game is tougher than the last. It is surprisingly a goal from Bastian that wins them the lead in the first half. Medhi puts in a fierce fight in place of Holger. The whistling fans never die down, protesting everything they do and every call against the local side. 

He sees fervent prayers on the sidelines. 

Robert misses a chance and Thomas almost makes it 2-0 but the second half is ugly in execution, more fights breaking out. Juan gets a yellow card and Bastian is furious, held back only by Philipp’s words. 

An offsides call is met with boos. Manuel relishes the goal kick. Pep is pacing up and down, side to side. His face contorted with orders and shouts. 

Sixty-seven minutes in, a combined effort of Mario’s shot goes in with the nudge of Thiago’s shoe. He breathes in the stadium air and clings to the younger man being the closest to celebrate. Mario practically topples them with his excitement, laughing into Thiago’s neck. 

Manuel raises Thiago up in a hug after the final whistle. They point to each other for the hero of the match. In the end, everyone is too pumped up to care. They made it to Berlin. 

It is with a hush they find out Real Madrid is their opponent for the cup. Philipp’s words boil down to ‘we can do this, we know them, we can win.’ Pep is like a dog with a bone, gnawing at every little thing. 

Berlin is a wave of red and white. 

Jerome looks up to the sky, sending a quick word, a plea for everything to go well. He has more to prove in his backyard than anywhere else. He’s come back a world champion and more than anything, he wants a treble on top of that achievement for all of them. Bayern is his family and he wants them to succeed. 

Thomas leads the song on the bus. They were stars of the south and they would burn brightly tonight.

The game goes simultaneously too slow and too fast. They are tied 1-1 for an age. By the time extra time comes around, they’ve used all their substitutions and everyone looks grim. Caution drives them to a fatal mistake that Ronaldo puts to good use. 

Robert equalizes and Jerome doesn’t know what to do because the urge to pull him in is stronger than the urge to shut it down. They spend one moment looking into each other’s eyes. Robert’s hands on his waist burn like a brand. It is a perfect moment wrapped inside a delicate balance of adrenaline and love. 

Berlin is his. Jerome is his and Robert belonged to Bayern.

Bastian cries, Thomas shouts, and Philipp smiles. 

They lift up the trophy.

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so, I confess this is all self-indulgence. I tried.


End file.
